


The Blind Man's Exhaustion

by rangopornstar



Series: The Blind Man's Ways [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Exhaustion, examination of morals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangopornstar/pseuds/rangopornstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a man in the street. And he's dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blind Man's Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, so this work is part of a series! The oneshots are unconnected so you don't have to read that one first, but if you like this, there is MORE! EVEN MORE MATT ANGST!

There’s a man in the street, just below Matt’s apartment. And he’s dying. Even blind, floors above him, thoughts thousands and thousands of miles away, body aching, Matt can tell the man is dying.

Death is there, in the pulls of his breaths, in the sour moans, the unintentional hiccupping of the man’s body, too weak to imagine anything but a grave to sleep in. Matt can hear blood dripping, slipping, slicking the pavement. It might have been a mugging. A stray stabbing. Cities like these get those once or twice a week. All he knows is that there is so much blood.

The blind man, alone in his apartment, wants to help. Wants to do something. Wants to run down to the street below, gather the dying man close to his chest, to wipe the bruises off the almost-dead like watercolors. Matt assumes there are bruises. In this city there is scarce a man or child without blood, pooled stagnant, just beneath their skin.

The blind man wants to help. But instead he stays in bed, tries to coax sleep back into his body once more. Matt’s body is broken.

He took down a stray Russian today, one of the few survivors of Fisk’s culling. Matt found him in a ghetto and knocked his teeth out of his skull, but his opponent did not fumble nearly as much as Matt’s usual opponents. Matt still feels the imprints of knuckles blooming blue on his stomach. As for the Russian, Matt just wanted answers.  ~~Just wanted to feel his own knuckles crunch and buckle, just wanted to hit something, to break something that was alive.~~  Just wanted names. Addresses. Plans. Something. ~~Anything~~.

Outside, the dying man whispers a name that Matt does not recognize. His footsteps become ragged. Dragging. The end is near, Matt can tell. Can tell from the slowing heartbeat, the folding lungs. The blind man’s heart tells him to get up. To rise from the warmth of his bed, to go down to the street and to help, for gods sakes he just wants to help. But his body tells him to stay. His bones and muscles, his blood and his skin, it all aches. His body cries out for painkillers. For rest. For respite. For someone to prepare the rosary so that his body might finally be absolved of…

Of whatever this is.

Of listening to a man dying in the street below and not doing anything about it. Of listening as the dying man hums a stranger’s name, of listening to his harsh breaths, to his slowing blood-

The blind man lies in bed. Listens. Waits. Holds his breath.

Outside, the dying man falls to his knees and suddenly all that he hears is quiet.

The quiet holds a steady note, long and thin for four heartbeats.

And finally, Matt gets up.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a 98% chance that if you comment I will immediately reply showering you in diamonds and praise. Care to test it out? Seriously, comments make my day.


End file.
